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The first ever second state visit for an elected leader who claims a third presidential election win started off with a bang on Tuesday night, when Donald Trump landed at London’s fourth most glamorous airport.
As soon as the US president touched down at Stansted into the balmy 13C evening and descended with his wife from Air Force One — still the old banger, sadly, not the new one donated unconditionally by Qatar, which is still in the process of being fixed up — it was clear this was going to be an elegant state visit. Maybe the most elegant state visit ever.
Alas, Britain had not granted Trump the same honour as the US showed Vladimir Putin in Alaska — no red carpet had been rolled out at Stansted — so it was just the grey tarmac with a few dashes of yellow taxi line for the TV backdrop. Neither was there a UK ambassador to the US present to greet the president because the man who was in the job until last week was sacked due to his links to the president’s old paedophile pal Jeffrey Epstein. So that was all a bit of a shame. But luckily the foreign secretary Yvette Cooper had made it out of her Union Jack-buntinged home so someone was there to shake Trump’s hand.
“A lot of things here warm my heart,” Trump told the reporters who had gathered on the runway, presumably referring to the country as a whole rather than Stansted and its environs. “It’s a very special place.” And then it was off to Regent’s Park in Marine One for a night at the home of America’s ambassador to the UK, mega Maga donor Warren Stephens.
On Wednesday, it was time for Trump to make his way over to Berkshire for a magical day out at Windsorland. Accompanied by his wife Melania, the president stepped out of his helicopter and was greeted by the Prince and Princess of Wales. “You’re so beautiful, so beautiful,” Trump told Catherine.
For a few awkward minutes that followed, the kind of diplomacy the royals were attempting to put on started to look more soggy than soft: the palace has not had the good sense to pave over its lawn à la White House Rose Garden Club, so Flotus could be made out picking her way gingerly across the damp grass as she tried to avoid her high heels sinking too deep into it. Only just, though — the brim of the plum purple hat that topped her head was so wide and droopy that only the bottom third of her face was visible. They finally made it across to the King and Queen, the enduring mystery of Melania preserved yet again.
But Potus, himself in full manuka honey-hued visibility, appeared thrilled with the spectacle being put on in his honour. The oldest US president to have ever been inaugurated was taken by the oldest British monarch to have ever been crowned to inspect the Royal Guard. “Watch the sword,” Charles joked as a soldier raised his ceremonial weapon alongside the president. Next it was time for a tour of St George’s Chapel. “It’s a lot of history,” remarked Trump.
These terrific verbal exchanges notwithstanding, the real warmth between the two men — the two nations, indeed — was not fully vocalised until that evening at the lavish banquet at Windsor Castle. Melania turned up in a yellow off-the-shoulder number, which she paired with a flesh-coloured belt that made it look at first glance like she was wearing a crop top and skirt combo, in what some called her second fashion error of the day. The King managed to sound warm during his speech, though he had a few pointed comments about the environment and “the world’s most intractable conflicts”.
So it was down to Trump, looking positively presidential in white tie, to really lay on the flattery, heaping lavish compliments on the King and Great Britain. He namechecked Shakespeare, Dickens, Orwell — authors whose works he has undoubtedly devoured, though not with as much alacrity as his favourite book, the Bible. He called the second state visit “one of the highest honours of my life” and spoke of both nations as “two notes in one chord or two verses of the same prose”. And in case people were worried that he hadn’t written a word of the speech, he called America “the hottest country anywhere in the world”.
After a dinner of Hampshire watercress panna cotta, organic Norfolk chicken ballotine, and vanilla ice cream bombe, all accompanied by a playlist of Trump’s Mar-a-Lago favourites, including Pavarotti and Elton John, some time around midnight it was finally time for bed.
At 1.04am, after all the day’s pomp, pageantry and presidential posturing had come to an end, Trump began to post on Truth Social from his grand Windsor suite about the “fake news” media and the “total losers” who present on it. He had been king for the day, but now it was as if it had all been just a big, beautiful dream.
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